


Mug of Warmth

by RyMagnatar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Mug brownies are allegedly delicious, a winter time story, except for eridan, he really doesnt like the midwest winters, look at that they're shooting a goose, thanksgiving too now, wrapped up an happy boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are never going to let Dave choose where you two will vacation ever again. This was hell on earth and you were going to freeze to death and he didn't even care. All he wanted to do was make some stupid treat in a mug!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are two things you have learned about the miserable cold winters of the midwest region of America.

You have learned it is miserable.

And you have learned it is utterly frigid.

Dave thought it would be  _fun_  if the two of you rented a cabin while you had a week or so off and he had enough of a break in his schedule after New Years and to spend that week of vacation in a wood box surrounded by snow three feet deep on all sides.

It was only six hours into the vacation and you were pretty sure someone was going to come out dead from this trip. And it wasn’t going to be you.

You’re huddled by the fire, shivering out curses and glaring hatefully at the coals that do not seem warm enough at all. You’ve got your coat on, but Dave has been searching for a blanket for half an hour and you swear you hear him in the _kitchen_ and not in the fucking closet upstairs.

Five seconds from climbing into the fucking fireplace, you hear footsteps and turn one frozen neck to glare over your shoulder. Dave is doing his namesake across the floor, a smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth with two mugs  and two spoons held carefully in one hand and a huge blanket draped over his arm. He drops the blanket onto your back, and you regally let him adjust it on you before shooing away his inept hand and doing it yourself. 

Then he sits down beside you and offers you a mug.

Where you were expecting hot coffee or something similar, instead you are greeted with a little mug full of baked chocolate goodness. And a strawberry. A fucking strawberry. You open your mouth, then shut it. 

Sighing a little,  you take the spoon from him as well and dig into the treat. It’s a little hot for your taste, but you kind of crave that right now.

Dave leans his shoulder against yours and murmurs, “Share the blanket?”

You open it up and let him crawl inside with you while chewing on a bite of strawberry and chocolate confectionery.

By the time you’re scraping chocolate from the bottom of the mug, you’re warm down to your toes and you’re thinking maybe this retreat would be more of an escape than an imprisonment after all…


	2. Goose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving has always been interesting with Eridan in the house. This year, he manages to save it in a way Dave doesn't expect.

“Shit.”

You swipe your hand up your face, shoving your glasses back as if maybe removing them and looking around the kitchen you’ll see what you were missing with them on.

“Shitshitshit.” 

Another pan around the kitchen and you kick a cupboard in frustration.

“SHIT!”

“Dave?”

Eridan pokes his head into the kitchen. He’s rubbing sleep from his eyes. Double triple shit. You forgot he was still asleep. He was only back home from Alternia for a week now and he’d finally gotten re-accustomed to the diurnal schedule.

You give him a strained smile and let your glasses fall back into place with a little flick of your fingers, “Hey babe.”

“Mmm,” He shrugs his shoulder, you hear it pop, and then he walks into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“Forgot the fucking turkey.” You say through gritted teeth. “I got all the rest of the damn trimmings but I forgot the fucking turkey. Now everyone is going to be over in fucking six hours and I haven’t a goddamn thing to give them!”

“Oh. Is that all?”

His cool tone snaps something inside of you. You twist around, ready to hurl an insult, a scathing word or six, maybe even a mixed up metaphor but he’s pulling a knife from the wood block and getting out the sharpener. “The fuck are you doing?” Comes out of your mouth instead.

He hands the tools to you and says with a grin, “Sharpen this, would you? I think the geese in our backyard have long since been due on their rent.”

He grabs the fucking table cloth and slips on his shoes at the back door. All the while you stare after him, wondering if he was actually serious.

Twenty minutes later, you're googling:  _how long does a goose go into the oven for?_


	3. Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan loves classical music concerts. Dave doesn't so much.  
> He still goes, though. And he never regrets it.

Eridan has it in his head that this is a concert.

You sit with him, one arm draped over his shoulders and the other tapping boredly on your thigh as you watch this single pianist play some impressionist musical guy named Buss or something. Two hours ago you had a handful of pissed off boyfriend as you dragged your feet around the apartment in hopes you wouldn’t make it on time so you could fuck him instead of sitting in a theater in the dark in boredom. 

But then you wouldn’t have Eridan sitting beside you like the way he is now, breath drawn in too deep and hands clutching at each other in his lap. He leans forwards slightly, chin up, eyes barely open. His face is a strange color in reflection of the stage light.

Somewhere during the middle of a crescendo, his hand slides into your lap, over your thigh, and tightly against your own hand. He holds tightly and you can’t help but smile just a little.

All right, so maybe his concerts weren’t all that bad. 


	4. Sketchy Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave takes pictures and Eridan tries a new hobby.

It’s the grunt that gets your attention. You look up from your stitching, feeling a mixture of grateful for the distraction and annoyed because of it, and frown. Dave’s standing out on the balcony, his camera in one hand, slightly lowered from his face. For the last hour he’s been standing out there, clicking away. You have no fucking clue what he’s photographing, but so long as it isn’t you, bent over this shitty project Rose said would help your concentration, dressed in a too big sweater and short shorts with your thumb beaded with purple blood because of the needle, you didn’t give a shit.

But now he’s standing out there staring at the sunset. He has that hunch to his shoulders that you’ve learned means he’s pensive. “What is it?” Your words are a little sharper than you should probably have them, but you had told him to be quiet and let you work before and now he was clearly distracting you.

“The horizon,” he says, not looking at you, “looks funny.”

The horizon looks funny? You wonder to yourself. You try a stitch or two more, poke yourself in the thumb again and curse. Putting your wounded digit into your mouth, you say around it, “What do you mean?”

“It looks,” he stops again, lifting the camera, “suspicious.” It begins to click away again. “I’d even call it sketchy.”

You roll your eyes and bend  back to your cloth. A sketchy horizon hm? What the fuck was he going to come up with next? But you smile a little to yourself. Probably something bizarrely interesting, like those pictures were going to come out to be. 

With your mood raised, you didn’t even swear the next time you pricked yourself. 


End file.
